


Good Help Is Hard to Find

by Telanu



Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/F, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telanu/pseuds/Telanu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When egos collide! A crossover with The Devil Wears Prada and Stargate: Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Help Is Hard to Find

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luthien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/gifts).



> Thanks to kai for the beta.
> 
> Written for my friend Luthien's birthday.

"Incompetence. Everywhere I look. I can't believe it. It's more insidious than the plague. Every time I hope for the best--well, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now, wouldn't you?"

"Er--"

"But no. No, I keep going. Even in the face of _constant disappointment_ from underlings who, in spite of the credentials that inexplicably appear on their résumés, are incapable of fulfilling the most basic parts of their duties."

"Yes, I--"

"Yes what? Excuse me. I am talking. I am trying to process. I get let down day after day after day by people who are supposedly the best they are at what they do. Oh, please. Like a fancy degree is supposed to provide a convincing façade for real-life inadequacy. Let me assure you, I can see through that in a heartbeat, Ms.--what was your name again?"

"Priestly," Miranda said. "Miranda Priestly."

"Oh, that's right," said Dr. Rodney McKay. He glanced around the room. "Sorry. I guess I got carried away. What is it you do, again? A magazine or something?"

"Or someth--yes," Miranda said, and gritted her teeth for the five thousandth time as she looked frantically around the crowded reception hall. But for some odd reason, everyone avoided her eyes whenever she tried to make contact, and nobody seemed inclined to come to her rescue.

"What was it? _Cat Fancy_? Was that it? Hey, I have a cat, you know. I guess I could ask you--you know, sometimes when they get runny bowel movements--"

" _Runway_ ," Miranda said, instead of slapping him. "I'm the editor-in-chief of _Runway_. The fashion magazine."

"Fashion? Oh. Huh. That's cute, if largely irrelevant. Waiter!" Dr. McKay flagged down a passing man in a white jacket and seized two flutes of champagne. He offered one to Miranda, who snatched it from his grasp and drank half of it without pausing to breathe. "Here you go. I can only get through these things with alcohol. Anyway, I'm glad I found you. You run a magazine, you probably have to deal with idiots all the time. Especially if they're a bunch of clothes-horse bobbleheads. No offense."

"I really have to go now," Miranda said, even as she imagined how he'd look in a Gucci dress shirt and with a bloody nose.

"What? Oh, hey, no," McKay said, and actually had the audacity to grab her elbow. She stared at him, but decided it was beneath her dignity to cause a scene. "You're, like, the first kindred spirit I've found here all night. I mean, even if you just do something dumb like fashion, it doesn't really matter--idiots are idiots, right?"

"I was just thinking the very same thing," Miranda said, wondering how many inches' worth of headlines she'd get in Page Six for publicly blowing off the Guest of Honor, the Man of the Hour, Rodney McKay, Ph.D., Responsible For Saving All of Planet Earth From Aliens in some form or fashion that Miranda didn't entirely understand. Nor did she care, except that snubbing him would result in publicity of the worst kind: the kind that made sales numbers drop, not rise, as Earth's grateful citizens canceled their subscriptions in outrage. Advertisers might even drop the magazine too, at least for a while. Even she couldn't afford to antagonize a hero like this.

"I mean, except for my team, of course. They're okay. Mostly." To Miranda's disbelief, Dr. McKay slid his arm through hers and began a companionable saunter across the room as they…chatted. People stared at them as they passed. And laughed behind their gloves and glasses. "You've met them, right? Ronon, Teyla, and Sheppard?"

"I've met Mr. Dex and Ms. Emmagan, yes," Miranda said. She'd approached Ms. Emmagan about being featured in _Runway_ , in fact. Perhaps even on the cover: she was attractive enough. But the woman had appeared…resistant to Miranda's delicate suggestion that she drop a few pounds, so it might never happen. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Colonel Sheppard." She'd seen photos, though. Not bad, although he could use a haircut from a competent professional. Nigel had practically drooled. Well, the colonel was obviously as gay as a tree full of monkeys, so perhaps Nigel would get lucky tonight. It was about time one of them did.

"Then I'll just have to introduce you," Dr. McKay said. "He doesn't embarrass me at least half the time. Where the hell is he, anyway?" he added, craning his neck as he looked around the room.

"I'm afraid I don't know, but I really do have to--" A thought occurred to Miranda. "I have to find my assistant."

"Your assistant?"

"Yes. Andrea. She was supposed to…be here, to do…things." Whatever it was that Andrea did. But she did it well. She was, in fact, unusually remiss in her duties in that she was leaving her employer to the mercies of Rodney McKay. Surely Andrea could spot her from a distance and invent some fake emergency? She was good at that. She was good at everything. But where was she?

"Good help, I'm telling you," Dr. McKay said, shaking his head in disgust. "Anyway, c'mon. We'll find Colonel Sheppard and maybe spot your assistant on the way." He elbowed her good-naturedly and she almost spilled the rest of her champagne. "Hey, do you know how nice it is to be able to bend a sympathetic ear?"

* * *

"It's so good to talk to somebody," Andy said blearily as she finished another drink. The tall, dark, handsome stranger sitting next to her at the bar offered her a nod. "I'm telling you. Really. I'm telling you," she persisted. "Have another?"

"I'm good," he said. "I think you've had enough."

"You know what? I have," Andy said, and slammed her hand on the counter. "I really have. I have totally. Had. Enough. Of her."

"You mean Miranda," the guy said. What was his name again?

"Yeah," Andy said. "How did you know? Did I tell you about Miranda?"

"Once or twice," the guy said. "Or more. In the last half-hour."

"Oh, okay," Andy said. "Yeah. But seriously, Jack--"

"John," the guy said. "Definitely not Jack. I'm John."

Andy paused. "John? You sure about that?"

"Positive," said 'John.'

"Oh. Well, seriously, John. You don't know what it's like. Being around that, day after day. Nobody can ever be good enough, nobody can ever be right, nobody's ever as smart as her, nobody can ever live up to her impossible standards, like her job is so important, woooo," Andy said, and waved her hands in the air for emphasis. She almost fell off the bar stool, but Jack--John--caught her elbow. "I mean, God, can you even imagine?"

"Yeah, I can," John said.

"Really?"

"Yep."

Andy squinted at him. He had kind of a goofy-looking nose. Miranda did too. Then, just as Andy was about to get depressed again, John waved his hand, and a couple of people came over to join them: a big guy with dreadlocks, and a shorter woman with pretty brown eyes and…huh. Really great boobs. They looked fantastic in her evening gown. Not as fantastic as Miranda's did, though. Andy wished fervently for another drink.

"What's wrong?" the big guy said, eyeing Andy where she sat--swayed--on the stool.

"Ronon, Teyla, meet Andy," John said, and patted Andy briefly on the shoulder. "Andy wants to know if any of us have experience with living and working with a difficult, demanding personality."

"I'm out of here," Ronon said, and walked off at once. Andy frowned after him. So did John.

"He and Rodney were talking before we arrived--" Teyla began.

"Ah," John said.

"--about--"

"Doesn't matter what."

"You're right," Teyla agreed. She smiled at Andy. Her smile was better than Miranda's, anyway, and looked a lot more real. "So who is this difficult personality you know?"

"Miranda," Andy said, and just the name was enough to get her blood boiling. "My boss. Miranda Priestly."

At the mention of Miranda's name, Teyla's pretty eyes darkened. "The woman who edits that fashion magazine?"

" _Runway_. Yeah."

"The woman who called me fat."

"Um," Andy said. "Probably."

"I too have a problem with her personality," Teyla said.

"She called you fat?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes. This is a lovely party. I am a civilized person. And yet I was sorely tempted to shiv her in the manner of my people."

"No, don't do that," Andy said. "I don't want her…shivved? Shiven?" She blinked rapidly. "I just want her to be nice. No, not nice. I want her to appreciate me."

"Any advice?" John asked Teyla.

"Advice when it comes to communicating with a difficult and demanding personality," Teyla said thoughtfully. "I could write a chapter."

"Great," John said. "I'll leave you ladies to--"

"But you could write a book," Teyla concluded. "It was nice to meet you, Andy. Good luck. I'm going to find Ronon," she added, glancing at John. "He'll be sulking."

"It was that bad?"

"Worse."

"Great," John said again. He watched Teyla leave, looked at Andy, and sighed. Then he gestured to the bartender. "Water."

"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to," Andy said, and her lip wobbled at the thought of being abandoned in the middle of this big, stupid party with nothing to do but think about Miranda.

"Don't cry," John said immediately. "Anything but that." The bartender gave him a glass of water, which he took with relief and offered to Andy. "Here. Work on this for a second."

Andy took the water and sipped it dolefully. John heaved a gusty sigh.

* * *

"…and then, you're not going to believe this, the transcode responder flipped out, and just because I'm not onsite, nobody thinks to use B-channel packet addressing. I mean, what kind of morons…"

"Unbelievable," Miranda agreed, looking around. Still no sign of Andrea. When she found her, she'd fire her. Again. Since returning from Paris, she'd fired Andrea several times, but for some reason, always felt compelled to take it back before Andrea could actually leave. Most unlike her. "Dr. McKay, I really have to find--" Then, suddenly, blessedly, she made eye contact with somebody she knew. "--Nigel!"

Nigel had been about to make a run for it. She could tell. But once they crossed gazes and she summoned them, he had no choice but to come forward. His shoulders slumped as he headed towards them. "Dr. McKay," he said, obviously trying for enthusiasm. "Nigel Kipling. It's an honor to meet you."

"And you are?" Dr. McKay asked, looking down his nose at Nigel's tuxedo. As always, Nigel had foregone a tie, a habit Miranda found rather charming but upon which the unfashionable tended to frown.

" _Runway_ 's fashion director," Nigel said, and took Miranda's other arm. He tugged, and McKay finally surrendered her. "I work for Miranda."

"Nigel, where is Andrea?" Miranda said, patting his arm and resisting her impulse to kiss both of his cheeks in gratitude. It might be seen as moderately out of character.

"Talking to a fellow luminary," Nigel said, and nodded at Dr. McKay. "Colonel Sheppard. I saw them together in the bar a few minutes ago." He sighed and looked depressed.

Miranda blinked. "Colonel Sheppard?" The handsome man with the bad haircut?

"Your assistant's with Sheppard? Excellent. Two birds with one stone," Dr. McKay proclaimed.

"Yes," Nigel said. "They made a pretty picture."

"So we can--what?" Dr. McKay said. He frowned. "A pretty picture?"

"Good looking girl, good looking guy, what more can I say," Nigel said, and seized a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "Except I need a drink. Why are my instincts always off?"

"Colonel Sheppard isn't gay?" Miranda said, her mind racing. Her instincts had clearly been off, too. Then again, it was true that his hair--but all the same, the moment she'd seen him, she'd thought--and working in fashion, well, you developed…

"No," Nigel said sadly.

"Of course he isn't," Dr. McKay spluttered. "He--that--why would you say--" His eyes widened and he leaned in. "I mean, seriously, why would you say that? You think he really is? Don't you fashion people have some kind of extra-sensitive gayda--"

"I think I need to find my assistant," Miranda said, and shook her arm. Nigel let go of her. "Right away. Right now."

"Yes," Dr. McKay said quickly. "And I need to find my, my, I need to find Colonel Sheppard. The bar, you said?"

"Right," Nigel said.

"Right," Dr. McKay repeated, and, to Miranda's horror, took hold of her arm again and grimly accompanied her across the room. The night, she decided, couldn't get any worse.

* * *

"It gets worse," Andy said hoarsely, leaning in. "So much worse."

"Yeah?" John said.

"You know when it comes to difficult people who are never happy…who you can never make happy…" Andy dropped her voice to her most subtle whisper. "I'm in love with her."

"You don't say," John said.

"Isn't that awful?" Andy said, and was pleased when another water glass magically appeared in John's hand. He offered it to her silently. "She's so mean to me. She's fired me, like, five times. I should've gone. I should have left in Paris. I should go right now."

"Go where?"

"Beats me," Andy said, and drank. "But I can't go. Just can't do it. It sucks, you know? Falling in love with somebody like that, and nothing's ever good enough, and they're all wrapped up in themselves and _so fucking oblivious_ , and they can't even see how happy you could make them if they'd just give you a chance…" Her bottom lip wobbled again. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

"Um." John cleared his throat, and she realized his cheeks had gone a little red. "Maybe. I mean, no."

"Right," Andy said, nodding vehemently. "And knowing your friends'll never understand how you want to put up with that for the rest of your life, forsaking all others and all that stuff, but you totally do! Because you're a maso-something. Masochist." She let go of a deep, sad sigh. "Everybody would think you're crazy."

"Uh huh."

"I mean, what do I have to do? Stick a neon sign over my head? 'Hello, I think you're gorgeous. I think you're amazing.' Is that what it takes?"

"Sounds good to me," John said with a wry grin.

"Oh, does it _really,"_ said a clipped, cold, and horribly familiar voice.

Andy and John turned around, and Andy dropped her glass with a squeak, spilling ice-cold water all over her couture-draped knees. Sometime when she hadn't been paying attention, Miranda Priestly herself had arrived in the bar on the arm of Dr. Rodney McKay, the scientist guy everybody was celebrating tonight.

And they were both staring at Andy like they wanted to rip her head off.

* * *

Miranda didn't know what she'd expected to find in the bar, but she certainly hadn't expected to see her young assistant three sheets to the wind and brazenly propositioning a man she hardly knew. "I think you're gorgeous"? "I think you're amazing"? That was the sort of thing Andrea used to talk people into bed? No wonder the girl was single, even if she was beauti--attractive.

Then again, the so-called hero Colonel Sheppard had seemed more than ready to respond. "Sounds good to me," indeed. What did he think he was doing, inviting the advances of a girl who was obviously drunk? That was some kind of rape, wasn't it? Oh, he wouldn't get away with that. Miranda was about to let him know, in excruciating detail, the fate that awaited him if he laid so much as a finger on Andrea's alcohol-flushed skin.

But Dr. McKay beat her to the punch. "Well, _Colonel,"_ he said, and finally let go of Miranda's arm. "Having a good time? In your element here?"

Colonel Sheppard rubbed his hands over his face. "Rodney," he began.

But Dr. McKay wasn't listening. He was practically quivering with indignation. "You know, this really is the limit. I've been wondering where you are, and I've been stuck talking to total morons all night--" He paused to give Miranda a glance that was almost apologetic. "--no offense--and for some reason Ronon keeps walking away whenever he sees me--"

"Rodney..."

"--and here you are, chatting up some intoxicated floozy--"

"Hey," Andrea said indignantly. "He wasn't--what do you mean, 'floozy'?"

"No floozy, and no chatting," Sheppard said. "And not nearly enough drinking."

"Looks like there's plenty of booze flowing to me!" McKay said.

"She's a pleasant young lady, and I was enjoying her company," Sheppard said. "Turns out we have a lot in common."

"Yeah," Andrea said. She added, "We do?"

Miranda decided she'd had more than enough of this farce. "Andrea," she said, "you're fired."

"Oh," Andrea said. She blinked confusedly. "You promise?"

"Yes," Miranda said, and reached out. She was fairly sure she'd meant to take Andrea by her elbow to tug her off the stool, but for some reason she grabbed her by her ear instead. "Now come along this instant. We're going home."

"Ow," Andrea said.

"And you are never to talk to strange men in bars again, especially not men like him."

"Men like--hey, now," Sheppard said.

"Nothing's wrong with Colonel Sheppard," Dr. McKay flashed. "I think we both heard _your assistant_ making the fatal suggestion."

"I didn't suggest anything," Andrea whined. "Miranda, you're hurting my ear."

" _My assistant_ and I," Miranda said through her teeth to McKay, "have to have a little chat."

"You better believe it," Sheppard said.

"Jack, no!" Andrea said, and for some reason she sounded horrified.

"Relax," Sheppard said, and, to Miranda's fury, had the gall to wink at Andrea. "Didn't she just fire you? How much worse can it get?"

"Sheppard," McKay said with immense dignity, "let's let the ladies go, shall we?"

"I'm not stopping anyone from doing anything, Rodney," Sheppard said. "I'm just sitting here in the bar. And it looks like there's a free seat now."

"Good," McKay said. "I mean, so what?" he added quickly. "As if I want it."

"Did anybody ever tell you that you have a difficult and demanding personality?" Sheppard asked.

"Ha! As if the opinions of lesser beings--"

"Are you gay?" Miranda asked Sheppard flatly.

"Am I--what?" Sheppard's eyes bugged out and he went red. "No! I'm not gay!"

Oh, so he was, then. Good. Relieved that she'd been worried for nothing, and hoping Nigel discovered the truth, Miranda turned her glare on Dr. McKay. He was turning even redder than Colonel Sheppard. "Good night, Dr. McKay. It has not been a pleasure. Especially since any fool knows that a simple tri-partate relay drop is far more efficient than B-channel packet addressing."

She had just enough time to see Dr. McKay's jaw drop before she turned around and, still holding Andrea by the ear, marched out of the bar, ignoring the stares they both received from fellow revelers. At least most people were as drunk as Andrea by now. Having the planet saved from aliens apparently brought out some kind of need to relieve tension.

"You don't have to hold on to my ear," Andrea complained from behind Miranda.

"Walk faster," Miranda said, ignoring her. "And call my car."

"I can't while you're grabbing my ear! How can I use my phone?"

"I pay you to figure out these simple details, Andrea."

"You just fired me!"

"Don't you have a phone call to make?"

"I'm going to marry you," Andrea said.

Miranda stopped dead in her tracks, and Andrea didn't, which meant they both almost fell over when they collided. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm going to call Roy now," Andrea mumbled, staring at the floor.

"That's what I thought," Miranda replied, heading for the door and never letting go of Andrea's ear.

* * *

"A tri-partate relay drop? Is the woman insane?"

"Probably."

"What do they put in that magazine binding? Crazy glue? I mean, literal crazy glue? And did she actually call me a fool? The nerve of her!"

"You and Teyla ought to talk," John said. "I think you just found something else in common."

"A relay drop! I don't believe it!" Rodney exploded. He glared at the bartender. "What's worth drinking around here?"

"Well, I do a wicked Screwdriver," she said.

"With orange juice?" Rodney yelped. "Are you trying to kill me? Is the entire evening out to destroy me step by step? Is--"

"Give him a Scotch," John said.

The bartender hurried to comply. She pushed the glass across the bar towards Rodney without making eye contact, and he took a long drink. "Relay drops. She's nuts. And quite possibly a danger to society."

"She's definitely unobservant," John said.

"No kidding. How anybody could look at B-channel packet addressing and not see--"

"Absolutely what I meant," John said.

"There's no need for sarcasm," Rodney said, and plunked himself down on the stool beside John. He gave him a sideways glance. "That was, uh, that girl. She was pretty cute."

"She was," John said, and nodded. "Nice eyes." Rodney immediately knocked back the rest of his drink. "Not big on interesting conversation, though."

"Were you really all that interested in talking to her?" Rodney sneered. "As opposed to, oh, I don't know--" He stopped.

"As opposed to what?" John prodded. He appeared to be hiding a grin. "Go on. I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Par for the course." Rodney sniffed. "You and ninety-nine percent of the world. I'm disappointed in Miranda, actually. I thought we were on a wavelength. Until I found out she's broken in the head."

"Lot of broken people in this world," Sheppard agreed, and motioned to the bartender. "Scotch for me, too. For the record," he added to Rodney, "I tried to pass Andy off to Teyla. No dice."

"Teyla?" Rodney gave John a quick glance. "Really?"

"Really. But she went off to find Ronon."

"Yeah. Yeah, what's up with that guy tonight, anyway? I was having a civil discussion with him about…"

"Doesn't matter what."

"No," Rodney sighed. The bartender helpfully set a fresh glass of Scotch in front of him. "If this keeps up, you and I are going to get as plastered as your little friend."

"There are worse fates," John said, and raised his glass. He gave Rodney a crooked half-smile. "Cheers, McKay."

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney said, and clinked their glasses together. "There are too many idiots in the world, Sheppard. You know, most of the time, you're not one. I mean, not too much of one."

"Big of you," John replied.

"You can even keep up with my train of thought, oh, maybe…" Rodney considered. "Thirty-three percent of the time, on your good days."

"I'm blushing," John said. "Hey. Rodney?"

"What?"

"Did you notice that my pal Andy is head-over-heels for your pal Miranda?"

Rodney stared at him. "No. But I fail to see how that's relevant."

"Gotcha," John said, and took a drink. "Sorry we're not keeping pace tonight, McKay."

"Oh, shut up and drink," Rodney groused, and John did, with equanimity. And if he noticed how often Rodney's eyes strayed towards him as he did so, well…he didn't say anything. Sometimes the smartest thing to do was keep your trap shut, after all.

Fin.

* * *


End file.
